Fallen Magic

Edward and I don’t talk about that conversation that day. Instead he gets me a doctor. The diagnosis is pretty much what I expected – I’m badly bruised and have a broken rib, but I’ll live. He resets the rib with magic, which hurts a lot less than I expected. I’m given crutches and painkillers and prescribed a lack of strenuous activity for the next week.

Assuming climbing way too many stairs doesn’t count as strenuous activity, that shouldn’t pose any difficulty. I’m relieved; it could have been so, so much worse. I know I’ll never forget those moments when I had to choose between death and destruction.

Maybe Elizabeth was right when she called me a survivor. Or maybe it’s sheer luck that means I’m still here when many others aren’t. Ten people died during the riot, according to the next morning’s front pages (which Edward and I read together over breakfast as usual) and many more were injured or arrested.

It reminds me that I didn’t ask Lord Blackthorn whether he killed the man who tried to assassinate him. Perhaps it’s better that I don’t know.

The royal family and their Magicians were unharmed, between the efforts of the guards and the fact five of the strongest magicians in the country were more than capable of creating a barrier that could protect them. It makes me wonder whether they could have protected others as well.

And a single sentence at the end of the article, after everything we’ve been through, notes that the former Lord Cavendish was quietly executed once the riot had been quelled.

“Well,” I say, digging my spoon into my porridge bowl, “at least it’s over now.”

Edward nods and turns to page two. Then he stops. “Tallulah,” he says in a strange tone.

“What?”

He shows me the headline. “MYSTERY GIRL” PERSUADES BLACK RAVEN TO SHOW MERCY.

Beneath it is a sketch of two people glaring at each other. One is a man in a scarlet cloak clearly intended to be Lord Blackthorn. The other is a dark-skinned teenage girl, looking exhausted but defiant. Beyond the skin colour it’s not a particularly good likeness, but there’s no doubt of who it’s supposed to represent.

“Stars,” I whisper.

“I’m sorry,” says Edward.

“This one isn’t your fault,” I say numbly, and continue to read the article. It describes yesterday’s events in reasonably accurate terms. Lord Blackthorn’s son and a mysterious girl who was with him were caught up in the riot, and nearly died before he came to rescue them. He would have slaughtered everyone who dared attack his son – I grimace – if the girl hadn’t intervened and begged him to stop.

She was so brave, an eyewitness reports. She was badly injured – could barely stand – and yet she faced down the Black Raven himself. I owe her my life. I don’t know who she is or what’s happened to her. I’m afraid for her, to be honest – everyone knows what he does to those who defy him.

I stare at the page in uncomprehending silence. “He thinks – he thinks your dad had me murdered?”

“It’s not out of character for the popular perception of him,” Edward says flatly.

And it gets worse: the article ends with a plea for anyone who has information about who this mystery girl is and what happened to her after she disappeared with the Black Raven to come forward.

“Well,” says Edward, “what do we do now?”

I can’t think about that. I can’t think about anything. I don’t want this. “…why?” I ask.

“Every story needs a hero,” he says. “And after what you did yesterday, you’re a natural choice.”

“I’m not a hero,” I say. “I just – I couldn’t watch him die.”

“There’s a quote,” Edward says. “From Starlight and Snowfall.”

“You’ve seen that?” I ask, surprised. It’s a famous play which depicts the events of the last few months of the First Civil War. It’s somewhat controversial for the way it depicts Philippa the Bright as something other than a shining beacon of goodness. Just because her enemy was the worst and evillest king the country has ever had doesn’t make her perfect, so the play argues.

“My dad says it has important lessons about politics.”

Of course. I don’t know what I was expecting. I think I know the quote he’s thinking about: Philippa, to Richard Blackthorn after Lucius’s death, after he denied being a hero in much the same way I just did. “Every hero who has ever lived denied being a hero. I’m still not one, though. Isn’t it a logical fallacy to assume that that means everyone who’s denied being a hero is one?”

Edward laughs. “That’s beside the point. In the papers’ world, you are a hero. But that’s going to change as soon as they find out that you’re actually on speaking terms with my dad and don’t see him as a monster at all.”

I bite my tongue. Contesting that last point isn’t likely to end well, and even if Lord Blackthorn is a monster he’s not the kind the papers say he is. “If he’s the villain,” I say, “then that makes me one by association?”

He nods.

“But… can’t I just… not talk to the papers?”

Edward shrugs. “You can, but that means the rumours will win out. And it won’t take long for them to track you down – there’s enough people here who know you it’s not realistic to persuade each and every one of them not to talk – “

“I’m not that well-known,” I protest. “It’s only the teachers and our class – and my dorm-mates, I suppose – “

“You underestimate the power of gossip, and of my infamy. How many people do you think have asked who’s that girl who always hangs around with Edward Blackthorn? And even if it were that simple, there’s at least one person we won’t be able to persuade.”

Oh. “Mildred.”

He nods.

“Then… what do I do?” I ask.

“I don’t know.”

Well, that’s helpful. If he doesn’t know, how am I supposed to?

I start by finishing my Magical Theory homework, and then curl up with my current pile of books. It hurts to walk too far with my crutches, and since I don’t have to I stay in the study room the entire day except for mealtimes.

Edward joins me in the afternoon and insists on another extracurricular magic lesson. I could use the distraction, to be honest, so I don’t fight him too hard.

“We could start work on the defensive spells? Practicing properly would involve more exercise than you’re supposed to have, and we don’t have containment wards here, but we could go through the theory… or not,” he says, seeing the look on my face.

“Or not,” I agree. “I will learn them. If your dad insists on it. But I don’t plan on needing them, so – “

“Did you plan on nearly dying in a riot yesterday?”

I flinch.

“Sorry. Too soon. But you see my point. Unfortunately I’m the sort of person who tends to attract danger, and if you insist on being my friend despite every reason you shouldn’t – “

I laugh. “It’s a bit late for that, now. I don’t think I thanked you. For saving my life.”

Edward shrugs. “You’re welcome, I suppose. But don’t feel like you owe me anything. Don’t feel like you have to stay my friend because I saved you. I didn’t do it for any of those reasons. I did it because I couldn’t let you die while there was anything I could do to prevent it.”

“And that,” I say, “is why I’m not going to abandon you. Not now, not ever.”

“So,” he says after a moment’s silence. “Triggered enchantments?”

I nod.

“And don’t forget you said you’d try to make enchantments that can be triggered by any magician,” he adds, smirking a little.

“I did, didn’t I? Fine. Let’s do it.”

It’s not as hard as I was expecting; certainly not as hard as the first time I tried a delayed-action permanent enchantment. It takes me six attempts. Maybe it’s because I’ve improved a lot under Edward’s tuition; maybe it’s just that this leap isn’t as hard as the last. Or maybe it’s because now, after the conversation we just had, I believe in myself a little more.

“Good work. Your form could use a few minor adjustments, but – “

“She’s here! We found her!”

I flinch, and my heart skips a beat before I recognise Elsie’s voice. She jogs into the study room, followed closely by Elizabeth and Robin.

“Yup,” I say. “I’m here.”

“I told you she was okay,” Robin says, rolling her eyes. “We share a dorm, remember? I saw her last night.”

Oh. That’s what this is about.

Edward gives me a look of silent encouragement. I nod to him. I can do this. These people know and like me. I can think of this as a test. “Seriously,” I say. “I’m fine. Well – not really – “ I gesture to my crutches. “But that was the mob. Not Edward’s dad. He didn’t hurt me at all.”

“Did you really stop him from killing dozens of people?” Elsie asks eagerly.

I shake my head. “One person. And the man tried to kill him first.”

“He tried to assassinate Lord Blackthorn?” Robin says. “I was going to congratulate you, but I take it back. Anyone who’d do that is too stupid to live.”

Edward laughs a little. I force myself to join in, even though I don’t find it the slightest bit funny.

“I still think you did the right thing,” Elsie says. “You were so brave.”

There’s a faint note of awe in her voice that I hate a little.

“I wasn’t,” I say, ignoring Edward’s undignified snort. “It just… happened.” Then, inspiration hits: “Edward was the brave one. He saved my life. Held back the mob single-handedly.”

He glares at me. “You helped.”

I laugh bitterly. “Tell me my poking people with a plank really made a difference.”

“Your poking people with a plank really made a difference,” Edward says immediately and flatly.

“That’s not what I meant – “

“Why don’t you say what you mean next time, then?” It sounds harsh, but he’s smiling.

“Can we stop trading banter and get to the point?” Elizabeth asks. “What actually happened?”

“We went to the execution,” I say. “There was a riot. We tried to get out but I lost Edward in the crowd and then tripped. I think I would have died if Edward hadn’t come back for me.”

“But I had to visibly use magic to give her space,” Edward adds, “and I was recognised – “

“I called you by your name,” I remember with a stab of guilt.

“You were in an immensely stressful situation, and you’re not exactly an experienced spy. Don’t blame yourself for that.”

Not an experienced spy. That is an understatement. I’m not a spy at all, and I certainly don’t want to be one. “Anyway,” I say to cover my discomfort, “Edward summoned help somehow, but we had to hold them off until his dad got to us. Then he… he was checking we weren’t too badly hurt when someone tried to stab him.”

“That went about as well for the stabber as you can imagine,” Edward continues. “And my dad was about to kill him when Tallulah persuaded him to stop. Then he teleported us away, and beyond that I know no more than you do.”

There’s a moment’s silence.

“Can I… ask you not to talk to anyone about this?” I say. “Any journalists, interviewers. I don’t want to be a hero.”

“Of course,” says Elsie. Elizabeth nods.

“They’ll still find out somehow,” Robin says.

I sigh. “I know. Just… I need more time. To work out what I want to do. Whether I want to get involved at all.” I already know the answer to that last one: no, I don’t. It’s just that it doesn’t seem as if that’s an option. So maybe it’s best to do it on my own terms rather than letting Mildred tell my story.

Or maybe it’s a mistake to give the papers anything, and if I just keep my head down it’ll die down of its own accord.

I just don’t know.